The Watcher
by Blood-Covered-Ivory
Summary: Do you ever wonder what you left behind? Do you ever wonder who you've influenced without ever realising it? A boy contemplates the girl next door. [oneshot]


She was always the weird one, the one who didn't quite fit. The other children made fun of her and looked at her like she was crazy if she used a word longer than two syllables. At first he went along with it. He laughed at all the jokes, moved away when she came near, and some times he even played 'keep-away' with her books. She had a lot of books.

Then, he stopped. He didn't join in anymore, he simply sat in his chair and watched. He started to think that maybe he could be her friend. He started to think that maybe he could save this wonderfully brave girl who kept coming back, day after day, to this place she loved despite the torment she was put through. He imagined heroically catching her book mid-throw and handing it back to her with a smile. After, of course, having single-handedly laid to waste the demons with the taunting smiles. He imagined convincing his friends that she was alright after all. He even imagined simply sitting next to her and saying 'Hello'. He never did any of this, though. He wasn't brave enough to do anything but smile weakly as his classmates pulled another prank and wish he could comfort the girl who ran, crying, from the room. Days, months, even years went by, and still he did nothing. And the girl grew ever proud and knowledgeable as she hid behind her shield of studies and increasing vocabulary.

There were pictures of her at his dentist's. They hung in the waiting room, and in the surgery. They would talk about her all the time, in between asking him questions he couldn't answer. 'How's school?' they would ask, "My daughter just got a 95 on her last test. We're really proud of her. She's going to grow into something special, I can tell." He could only make vague sounds of agreement and glance again at her picture on the wall.

He would sometimes see her on her porch when he looked out his bedroom window down the street. She was always reading, but sometimes she would look up, a smile playing on her lips and he would wonder what wonderful, enchanting world she was in now.

The summer he turned eleven, he decided to change. He decided that this school year he would talk to her. This year he would become her friend. She was always the first in the classroom, no matter what the day, so he planned to walk in shortly before the bell and take the seat next to her. That way she would know, without a doubt, that he had chosen to sit there, and had not simply taken the seat because there were none left. The first day of school finally came around and everything seemed to be going according to plan. A few minutes before the bell he broke away from his friends and headed indoors. He strode into the school and into his assigned classroom with an air of confidence that was entirely feigned. He turned to face her and his plan flew apart. She wasn't there. He stumbled mid-stride. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He continued into the room and chose a chair front and centre. Maybe she was running a little late. His eyes watched the door hopefully as the bell rang, as the class filtered in, as they got down to work, and as they left for home. He got up dejectedly. Maybe she was sick. He convinced himself that this must be the answer. She wouldn't miss school for anything else, and he was sure this was the school she was to be attending as her parents had mentioned it when he had his last appointment in the spring.

Yet, she wasn't there the next day, or even the next week. It was the third week of school when he finally decided to go to her house and find out what had happened to her. Her mother looked at him in surprise when he asked and explained thather daughterhad been accepted to an exclusive boarding school up north.

He didn't know why he was so shocked. It only made sense that her talents would be recognised and she would leave for better things. Still, it felt like something inside him cracked that day.

He got on with his life, as everyone who has experienced loss invariably does. He went to school, got good marks, hung out with friends, went to parties. He even tried out for the school football team, but he didn't make it by a long shot. But always he would find him self counting down the days until the holidays. He tried to pass this off as everyone's wish for a break in routine, a chance to relax and see family. But he couldn't fool himself. The holidays were the only times he might have a chance to see her again. He would look for her every Christmas and summer, watching from his bedroom window for a sign of her return.

When she did come it seemed to him that she had aged far too much for simply a year's absence. Maybe it was simply his mind playing tricks on him. Maybe it was because he hadn't been there to see her grow.

The summer after her second year up north she was hardly there at all; gone off to vacation in France. Her parents had been excited the previous spring, talked about it non-stop during his appointment. They were glad to be able to spend time with her again.

The summer after her third year she seemed to have aged more than usual. He couldn't keep his eyes off her that summer, wondering what could have happened to her to age this joyful girl so much. Wondering how it was that this year she could seem so much more lovely than she had before. She left early that summer. He overheard talk of her visiting some friends. He imagined these friends as brave and intelligent, never failing to let her know how much she meant to them.

The summer after her fourth year she was barely home at all. She left shortly after she arrived and her parents had worry lines etched in their brows.

The summer after her fifth she seemed to be carrying an unbearable burden on her shoulders. Later in the summer her friends came to visit. A tall, gangly redhead and a scrawny black haired boy. The scene before him was one of carefree joy and amusement: The trio sitting on her porch, the redhead's arms slung casually about the both of them as they laugh at a joke he has made. But the looks in their eyes told a different story. He realised then that the burden wasn't hers, but the black haired boy's, and that she and the other were simply helping him to bear it. His admiration for her grew, seeing how she graciously supported him without a word. Yet he felt a stab of jealousy that these boys had filled the role that he had given up through his inaction. They had no doubt been her heroes and, he could see from the way they looked at her, she had been theirs.

That fall as he went to his dentist appointment, he witnessed something that he wished with all his heart that he hadn't. The local newspapers stated that the fire had been caused by a gas leak. The gas had also created some strange flashes of green light and the frightening visage in the sky as a result of a chemical reaction caused by the flames. The paper didn't explain the laughter that haunted his dreams in the nights to come.

She didn't come home that summer.

The summer after that, though, she was back with the red-haired boy. They were clearing out some of her things. The boy- no, man- held her comfortingly as she sobbed. The watcher dreaded the 'for sale' sign that was sure to come.

A few days, months, or even years later he saw her in a bookstore on an old street in London. He followed her out when she left. She was headed towards a record store when she made an unpredictable turn and he lost her in the crowd.

He had given up hope of ever seeing her again when he spotted two unmistakeable heads of hair in front of her old house. One bushy brown, and one red. They were surrounded by moving vans. She bit her lip in concentration as she bossed the movers around, directing them here and there. After the movers had left, the redhead snuck up behind her and swept her up into his arms. She laughed joyously as he carried her into the house, kicking the door shut behind them.

He saw her pretty much everyday now; on her porch, at the supermarket, in the park. He didn't go out of his way to see her anymore, but she was always there, just out of reach. It was evening and he was heading home, passing by her house as always, contemplating life as it related to his shoes, when the unexpected happened. He looked up suddenly, and there she was. Obviously lost in thought herself, she had just noticed him herself. They stopped quickly and stood there, nose to nose.

'Oh, hello,' she said, startled, and went on her way. It wasn't until she had long since gone inside, and he noticed that his feet had carried him of their own accord to the end of the block, that he said the words he had wanted to say for so many years.

'Hello Hermione'

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A/N: So, what do you think? This is the first time I've written in a while, but hopefully it's better than my previous Harry Potter fic (oh, the Mary-Sue, I'm glad I stopped that one). 


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